Sophie
by keeponwritin
Summary: Declan Coyne was in love.


A/N: I'm procrastinating and writing fics instead of important papers that are due in 2 days.

So, here's the thing. Declan/Fiona... I believe it. I'm fully convinced that they are consciously flirting with one another, if not totally boning on the side. And I've noticed the influx of Declan/Fiona fics around here somewhat (yeah, I know... guilty as charged). But I decided Declan might still be interesting even if he's not doing his twin sister, so I put all that aside and wrote this.

Rated T, I guess, for 1 f-bomb and well... sexuality galore. I fully blame KT.

Spoiler warnings up to 9x12 (that is, 4 episodes ahead of where TeenNick just left off.)

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_Sophie_.

Every time I close my eyes, I see snapshots of her. Those soft, dark tendrils sweeping across her shoulders, her perfect milky skin, her translucent eyes and her mischievous smile. The moments I see are from the fall semester of grade 10. I feign sick at a party so I can leave, and take a taxi to her loft instead. Her sheets are deep red and her room is bathed in yellow-gold; everything is so warm and balmy. It was the direct antithesis of the lofts I'd always lived in, full of glass windows, harsh light, white walls and cold, neutral decorations. Not to mention it never occurred to me before that moment how physically warm another human being could be, even bare and in the brisk air of autumn. We're both still half-clothed, but she seems to be getting off on just being underneath me, running her fingertips along my bare back and staring up at me. It was a good thing, too. I was still a virgin at this point in our relationship. Plenty of girls had slithered down, smiling like porn stars, smiling like they wanted to touch me and take me in their mouths. Sometimes I'd return the favor, but those were positions of submission and dominance. Right then, with the bedside lamp lighting the flecks of green in her cat-like eyes, she looks both intrigued and nervous, and I realize we're equals.

It would be a couple more weeks until I lost my actual virginity, but I think of that night as the night a girl finally peeled back my cynicism and let me fall in love. I lost my love virginity, you could say. Without a shadow of a doubt, I was in love, and there was no taking it back or pretending I wasn't, because everyone knew and it was on the lips of every person at school: Declan is in love.

"Is this okay?"

I smiled halfway to a laugh. Holly J is sitting in my lap, straddling me, and has just unbuttoned her shirt open, and now she wants to know if this is "okay." But I understand where she's coming from. I wouldn't like it much either if my lover were staring expressionlessly at a wall when I'm throwing myself at her. But that didn't change the fact that I was amused. This was the girl everyone was so afraid of? The one who spits poison, who mows down everyone in her way with disregard for feelings? If the student body saw Holly J in the positions I saw her (both literally and figuratively), they'd pity her more than they'd fear her. This protective shell I'd heard so much of was more like a thin layer of black paint. Holly J. Sinclair was worried, insecure, wracked with self-doubt. You expect some kind of wildcat in bed, pouncing, tearing off clothes, and instead she's... this. An unsure little virgin, asking me for a how-to guide to foreplay.

"Yes, Holly J."

The affirmation provides some momentum. She's clearly breathing unsteadily even when she leans in and starts to kiss on my neck. I start touching her hair, the light and soft hair, and she takes it as an invitation to unbutton my shirt. Her finger grazes my chest when she does this, and for a second, I catch a glimpse of Sophie, but it's short-lived. She retracts her hand and mumbles an apology.

I don't feel much for her. She's slightly different, but enough for me to care. Once you get past the Holly J bullshit, she's just as lovesick and desperate as the rest. Another teenage girl who deep down, just wants a boy to validate her existence. Such a cliché.

Sophie knew what she wanted, and it certainly wasn't some boy spewing romantic platitudes and flashing puppy dog eyes. She would stare at me all night just to capture that one instant in which I'd lift the veil and prove with just a look that I loved her. And I'm not that good of an actor. I loved her. No laundry list of things I loved about her, or saccharine speech. I loved her and nearly everything about her.

Patient, kind, doesn't boast, isn't proud.

Fuck those.

It's inconvenient. It's irrelevant. It's impractical.

This was practical. This meant something. Her small fingers unhooking her bra, her icy green eyes watching my reaction with apprehension--this mattered. In fifteen minutes, we'd redress, and I'd always have this night to replay in my mind. I'd always be able to claim her virginity as mine. If this ended tomorrow, I could use it to my advantage. I could call her out on the weakling she is, crack open these moments and show the world how scared and alone Holly J. Sinclair really is. Whether for good or for bad, I could use these moments. They meant something.

As for the love of a girl who took my heart just as quick as she threw it back, well... I had nothing to show for that.


End file.
